


Direction (In a World with No Daylight)

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Divergence - What's a Johnny Depp?, Dark!Graves, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Graves' Coat, Grindlewald follower!Graves, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Trying to Heal After Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, semi-intentionally slightly euphemistic explorations of magic, some good advice but plenty of bad choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9917153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Credence is healing, slowly.  It’s a process, or at least that’s what Queenie tells him.  But it’s hard.  There are choices to make, a past to deal with and a future to plan, and sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to think about any of it.  And then here’s Mr Graves.  Mr Graves, who he can’t quite get out of his head.  The worst of it is that despite everything Tina and Queenie say, everything that’s happened, he isn’t sure he wants to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags – this is not a lighthearted fic.

As far as the magical community of New York is concerned, Credence Barebone no longer exists.  The obscurial was destroyed by a team of aurors in a subway tunnel. 

As far as Credence is concerned, he’s not always sure if he exists either.

He certainly doesn’t exist as he used to.  His life at the New Salem church is gone, just like the church itself.  The obscurus is gone too.  He doesn’t understand that, but he doesn’t understand magic all that well.  He feels different without it.  There’s more room in his head, and his emotions don’t run quite as hot.  But he also feels… a lack.

He’s lucky to have survived it, Tina tells him, both living with it for so long and its destruction.  Tina has been so kind to him, and Queenie too.  Credence doesn’t know what would have happened to him if they hadn’t found him and taken him in.  He’s doing better now – he is.  He’s better than before.  It’s still hard, and Queenie says it likely will be for a long time.  He gets overwhelmed, is the thing.  Overwhelmed with memories, emotions, choices.  He can’t seem to process anything quite right.  His thoughts keep circling around to his ma, his sisters, Mr Graves…

Mr Graves.  Tina said it had shocked MACUSA that one of their most trusted, President Picquery’s right hand man, revealed himself to be devoted to the destruction of magical society as they knew it.  He’d blasted his way through a wall of aurors and disappeared, and MACUSA was in shambles over it.  It was a mess, Tina told him, trying to find Mr Graves, keep the city safe, and reassure the public, all while dealing with the very practical concern that there was is no one to actually direct magical security.  She works long hours, and she’s tired when she gets home.  Though it was likely that Mr Graves wasn’t even in New York anymore.  Tina really thought it was the last place he would be.  The emotions which well up inside Credence at this line of thought are yet another thing that overwhelms him.

Tina and Queenie try to teach him magic.  It’s slow, and frustrating, but they do try and they’re always patient.  Credence still doesn’t have a wand.  He wants one desperately, but Tina says she doesn’t know how to get him one without MACUSA finding out.  Wands are regulated, and even if he’s not MACUSA’s highest priority it doesn’t seem likely that he could just walk into a shop and buy a wand without a permit.  They let him practice with their wands, but it’s clumsy.  Tina’s fits him best.  Queenie’s is too lively, and it doesn’t do anything to stabilize his already erratic power.  A lifetime of locking it deep inside isn’t easily undone.

He goes out sometimes.  He doesn’t know if he’d stay sane trapped in the apartment, and Tina always insists he shouldn’t feel trapped anyway.  No one is really looking for him, and he never was the sort of person that got noticed.  He stays away from the parts of the city he used to know.  Anywhere Ma preached, anywhere Mr Graves… Anywhere Mr Graves took him.  But it’s a big city, so he walks in the opposite direction and the memories don’t come on quite so strong.  Tina doesn’t like him to be out late but she never gets angry at him, just worried.

Credence is walking back from the grocery in the early afternoon sun when he sees him – the man standing across the street.  He almost doesn’t notice at first, just sees the stillness against the moving crowd, but then his mind catches and he realizes.

Credence’s head spins and his breathing stutters painfully.  He doesn’t understand how Mr Graves can be standing there, doesn’t understand how he can be in New York at all with the whole of MACUSA hunting him with a single minded fury.  It’s like looking into a memory.  It was only a few weeks ago, but it feels simultaneously like a lifetime and like no time has passed at all.  Mr Graves watching him from across the street at the mouth of an alley, only this time it’s not relief that washes through him at the sight but a sickening mix of guilt, anger, fear, and helplessness.  He stumbles backwards desperately, trying to think past the rushing in his head but only managing two steps before knocking hard into the newsstand behind him.  He nearly falls as papers cascade to the ground around him, someone’s shouting at him, and when he looks back up Mr Graves is gone.

It takes a long time for Credence’s breathing to settle.   By the time he gets back to the apartment he’s half convinced himself that he imagined it, that Mr Graves had been a figment born of stress and grief and nothing more.  And wouldn’t that be better?

He should tell Tina.  If Mr Graves is here he should tell Tina so that Tina can tell MACUSA, and Mr Graves can be caught.  He knows this.  But the thought of saying it out loud, of saying that Mr Graves is here and came for him, makes him feel sick.  It’s ridiculous, anyway.  Mr Graves is powerful, but so are the MACUSA aurors, and there’s no way that Mr Graves could hide from them.  And what would he come back for?  His obscurus is gone.

Credence does his best to put it out of his mind before Tina gets home, and particularly before Queenie does.  Queenie doesn’t always try to read his mind.  She tries not to sometimes, he knows, tries to give him the privacy to sort through his own thoughts, but she can’t help it.  She’d described it to him once, said it was like trying to cover your ears when someone was shouting.  It was muffled, but you still heard it.  So Credence won’t shout.

He’s stirring soup, making dinner in the kitchen with Queenie, when she lays a hand on his and says, “It’s okay to miss him, sweetie.”

Credence’s heart stops, both at her words and at what may have prompted them.  He hadn’t been thinking about anything in particular – he hadn’t meant to, anyway.  What did she hear?

“I know you’re thinking about him honey, and it’s making you feel awful guilty.  But you don’t have to.  He was important to you, and what happened after doesn’t change how you felt.”

Credence ducks his head, not that it’ll do any good.  She doesn’t need to see his expression to know.  “Please, Queenie.  I don’t want to talk about it.”

Queenie gives him a small smile and pats his hand.  She’s just turning back to the vegetables when she pauses, looks back at him.  “Sweetie,” she says gently.  “You know you’re safe here, right?  Tina and me, we’ll look out for you.”

Credence nods tensely, head still ducked and eyes cast down.  He keeps his gaze locked onto the soup broth, watching little carrots float round and round the pot.

He hears Queenie talking to Tina later that night.  They’re talking quietly, but it’s a small apartment.  He’d never meant to worry them.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

It’s not too long after that when Tina starts asking him what he wants to do next.  She asks gently, kindly even, tells him it’s his choice what he wants his life to be.  He didn’t think he could stay hidden in Tina’s apartment forever but somehow, he’d never thought about how he would eventually have to leave.  Tina said it was his choice, but what were his choices, really?  Move to another city with no money, no friends, and live as a no-maj?  Turn himself in to MACUSA?  Try to join the magical community, teach himself magic, learn it well enough to start a career?  He couldn’t even figure out what he wanted for breakfast, how was he supposed to know what he wanted for the rest of his life?

What he wants… is what Mr Graves had impossibly, cruelly promised him.  Queenie hears him, he knows it, but he can’t help it.  Not when it’s true.

Queenie suggests writing to Newt Scamander, says that maybe Credence could go to Britain and start over there.  It was better than living as an outcast in America maybe, but.  Whenever he tries to wrap his head around it, his mind shies away.  What would it be like living among foreign witches and wizards, doing… what, researching beasts with Mr Scamander?  He doesn’t even know Mr Scamander.

Tina tells him to take some time to think, that no matter what she and Queenie will be there for him.  It doesn’t help.  He thinks more than a week into the future and all he can see is a dim maze of wrong decisions, more twisted and convoluted than the city streets.  He wanted all his life to make his own choices and now that he’s here, he doesn’t know how.  He wants someone to tell him what the right answer is.  To explain to him the way out, lay it all out step by step like a map, and tell him it’s going to be all right.  Tina cares for him, but she can’t do that.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

He’s walking a few blocks up from the apartment when it happens.  There are hands on him from behind, weight against him, and Mr Graves – because it has to be, he would know those hands anywhere – propels him onto a side street.  Credence’s breath escapes him as his back hits a wall and he looks into the face he thought he’d never see again.

“Credence.  Are you all right?”  There’s a concern in his voice as if he’d just come from his Ma’s, bloody and shaking, looking to Mr Graves for refuge.  But his Ma is dead, and Mr Graves is a liar.

“Let go of me,” Credence snarls, twisting fruitlessly, trying to dislodge Mr Graves’ firm grip on his shoulders. “Let go of me or I swear I - I'll -”

A look of amusement flits around Mr Graves’ eyes, and Credence flushes.  “You'll what? You’re unarmed. You don’t have a wand.”

“Don’t touch me.  I don’t – I don’t want you to touch me.”

“I’ve been looking for you, Credence.”  Mr Graves is talking as though Credence hadn’t spoken, and weren’t still trying weakly to escape his grip.  “I’ve been worried.”

“Why?”  The hot flash of defiance that runs through Credence is sharp and bitter.  He’s never spoken to Mr Graves like this before.

“I care for you.”  He says it as if it’s self-evident, and maybe it is.  Or maybe it had been.  Credence doesn’t know anymore, and every doubt he’s had since Tina took him in crashes back into his head, his rebelliousness ebbing away.

Mr Graves traces along his neck, gently, slowly.  Credence shivers, then stills as Mr Graves’ fingers settle over the thin chain lying around his neck, tucked under his shirt.  His fingers slip under it, lifting it, and Credence winces, looks away, wants to be anywhere but backed against a wall by Mr Graves lifting the little bronze charm out of his shirt.

“You kept it.”

He hadn’t planned to.  He was going to get rid of it, but he… hadn’t.  He hadn’t let himself think too much about it, just tucked it into his clothes and done his best not to think about why.

A look of approval is growing on Mr Graves’ face, the little triangle sitting in his palm.  His fingers close around it and he pulls, slowly, until the chain is taught and Credence is forced to lean forward to stop it biting into his skin.

“That’s it.”  Mr Graves wraps his other hand around the nape of Credence’s neck, squeezing in a way that had once been reassuring, and now makes Credence’s stomach turn.  He shuts his eyes, fists clenched at his sides, and suddenly everything in his life seems wildly absurd.

“Please, Mr Graves.”  Mr Graves strokes over the back of his neck, and Credence feels sick at his instinct to melt into the touch.  “Why are you here?”

“For you, Credence.”

And Credence knew it, he _knew it_ , but it still feels like his spine has turned to ice.  “No.”  He shakes his head and it does nothing to dislodge Mr Graves’ hand.  How did Mr Graves even know he was here?  “No, the obscurus is gone.  You can’t have it Mr Graves, it’s gone.”

“I know.  I saw it happen.  I tried to protect you from them, and I failed.  I owe you an apology for that.”

Credence’s head is spinning, and he’s not getting enough air.  Mr Graves is apologizing to him, but for what?  For not protecting him from the aurors?  From Tina?  Tina had been protecting him from Mr Graves.

“I’m here for you now, Credence.”  Mr Graves sounds sincere.  He had always sounded sincere.

“You said – you said you were done with me.”

“Shh, shh.”  Mr Graves is close enough that Credence feels his breath on his cheek, the warmth of his body just inches away.  It takes everything Credence has not to press forward into him, and he hates himself.

“I never should have said that to you.  I let my need for the obscurus blind me, but that’s done now.  That’s done.”  Mr Graves lets the pendant fall against Credence’s chest and cups his cheek, thumb stroking softly back and forth.  “There’s no obscurus.  Just us.”

“N-no.”  But Credence’s voice is rapidly losing strength, faltering as he struggles to understand, to make sense of the sick relief and hope blooming in his chest.  Mr Graves slides his hand down his neck, down his arm, takes his hand, thumb brushing the inside of his wrist.  Mr Graves’ scent is making him heady, overwhelmed with memories of being touched – _hands stroking down his chest – fingers at the base of his spine – Mr Graves’ lips pressed warmly against his own._   Credence is a half second from melting into his arms when Mr Graves steps back.   The lack of touch is like a shock of cold water.  Credence sways on his feet.

“I’ll be here when you need me, Credence.”  Mr Graves turns, vanishes as he walks down the alley before Credence can draw a full breath.

Credence stands frozen for the space of a heartbeat before the shaking starts.  First in his hands, a trembling that works its way deep into his core until he can barely stand, sagging against the rough brick wall and still feeling the phantom touch of Mr Graves.  His hand finds the pendant sitting heavy on his chest.  The points of the triangle dig into his palm and he yanks hard, sharp, pulls until he feels the clasp snap.  He throws it with all the strength he can find, casts it away and doesn’t see where it lands for the tears in his eyes.  He’s running, running down the alley, and by the time he’s gotten himself lost in the New York streets he almost can’t hear Mr Graves’ voice in his head.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

He doesn’t know what to say to Tina, doesn’t know what Queenie will see in his head.  He can’t, can’t have her know.  Not about… how he felt.  He probably owes it to them to tell them about Mr Graves.  They took him in, they take care of him, and Tina’s an auror, she needs to know.  But they can never know how good it felt when Mr Graves touched him.  Credence doesn’t know if he can risk them finding out.  He can’t bare them finding out how weak he is, not after everything they’ve done for him.

He buries the thoughts of Mr Graves deep inside, presses them down until there’s barely a trace.  He’d always been good at burying things.  He’d had to be.

Queenie looks at him concerned over dinner.  She can tell he’s upset, and that he’s hiding something.  She could probably find out what it was if she tried.  She doesn’t.

Credence starts avoiding Queenie like he should be avoiding Mr Graves.  The third time he abruptly leaves a room when she enters, Tina sits him down and asks him what’s wrong.  Credence looks down at the floor, looks at his hands, anywhere but at Tina.  The only thing stopping him is his own shame, and Tina needs to know.

“It’s… It’s Mr Graves.”

“Have you been thinking about him a lot?”  Tina’s eyes are soft, understanding, and she takes his hands in her own.

“No, I –” Credence swallows hard.  “Yes, yes, but he…”  Tina squeezes his hands, gives him a little smile of encouragement.  Credence can’t meet her gaze.  “I saw him, Tina.”  He’s shaking again, trembling with the weight of the admission, and he feels Tina go still.

“You saw him?  What do you mean, Credence, where?”  And Tina is still gentle, but there’s an urgent edge to her voice, the tone of an auror whose job it is to catch this man.

“In the city.  He – he found me in the city.”

“He spoke to you?”

Credence’s eyes are burning, tears threatening to spill over at any moment.  “Yes,” he gasps, “yes, I’m sorry Tina.”

“No, no, Credence.  You’re all right.”  She pulls him forward into a hug, and his tears fall onto her blouse.  Tina holds him, reassuring him while gently asking for details – were exactly they were, when it was, what Mr Graves wanted.  Credence knows it’s important, but she has so many questions and he… he doesn’t want to answer them all.  He can’t possibly tell Tina everything Mr Graves said to him.  It’s raw, and humiliating, and what would she think of him then?

Eventually Tina pulls away and has a hurried conference with Queenie, who looks at him with such pity and concern that it makes him burn, before rushing off to send a message to MACUSA.

There’s only so much Tina can do.  She can’t say much without giving Credence away, and MACUSA doesn’t put much stock in anonymous tips even when they do come through an auror.  They’ve been flooded with tips ever since Credence destroyed the city – people saying they saw Grindelwald buying a newspaper, or that their batty old neighbor is a spy.  She has a blazing row with Queenie when she decides to track Graves down herself, which ends with burned dinner, a shattered teacup, and a solemn night of reinforcing the wards around the apartment.

Queenie finds Credence a little later.  She stands in the doorway and knocks, like there was actually any privacy in the little apartment.  “Hey sweetie.  You got a minute?”  Queenie smiles at him, and Credence nods.  She sits beside him, reaches over and takes his hand.  “I wanna talk to you about Mr Graves.”

Credence does not want to talk about Mr Graves.  He doesn’t want to think about Mr Graves, and doesn’t want to think about the tangle of emotions that rise up inside him because of Mr Graves.

“I know honey.  I know.  It’ll just take a minute, okay?”  She squeezes his hand.  “I know it’s real tough, and I just want to make sure you’re doing all right.”

Credence doesn’t really see how he could be all right, but he nods again anyway.

“See, sometimes when people hurt us, if it’s someone we care about, it’s real easy to just remember the good times.  There were lotsa good times, I know.  And that’s okay sweetie, it feels way better to think about the good times than the bad.  But it don’t mean the bad times didn’t happen.  You can get to thinking that if you saw that person again maybe it would all be good then too, even though that person hurt you before.  But with some people and some kinds of hurt, it happens again and again.  The good times in the middle don’t change that, no matter how good they are.”

Queenie pauses, and Credence glances up at her.  “You must forgive others their trespasses,” he says quietly, “if you hope to be forgiven for your own.”

“There’s nothing wrong with forgiving, but does it have to mean repeating?”  Queenie presses her lips together, shakes her head a little.  “You’ve been treated awful bad Credence, but there are people who’ll love you without any of the hurt.  You just gotta find them.”

Credence doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know for sure if he believes it.  He’d thought he had found that, with Mr Graves.  Maybe that was the best it got, and how bad was that really?  When it was good it really had been good.

Queenie looks at him with a small, sad smile.  “People who love you, honey – they don’t want to hurt you.  You remember that, okay?”

Credence nods, and Queenie kisses his forehead.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Credence stops going out on his own.  In part it’s because he knows that Tina and Queenie are justified in their fear that Mr Graves will try to find him again, but it’s also his own fear that he doesn’t know what he would do if he sees Mr Graves. 

It doesn’t take long before he hates the apartment.  Tina lends him books which cover every conceivable magical topic, and they are interesting – fascinating, even – but there’s only so much reading he can take in a day.  If he could practice the things he reads about maybe it would be different, but he can’t even do magic without borrowing a wand.  He can’t stand it. 

The frustration builds in him each day when Tina comes home and shakes her head – no news of Mr Graves.  He hates the suspense, and he hates the spark of relief he feels each time Tina says Mr Graves hasn’t been caught.  It gets to the point that he can’t remember what he’s hiding from.  The obscurus is gone, and either way Mr Graves doesn’t want that any more.  MACUSA isn’t going to catch him.  And what are Credence’s options, really?  Hide at the Goldsteins’ forever?  Flee the city and go on the run?  It’s ridiculous.  Alone in the small apartment, with nothing to distract him from the thoughts cycling through his head, it sometimes feels like Mr Graves has more of a presence there than he would if Credence met him on the street.  His head gets so full of Mr Graves’ words, his touches, the feel of their bodies pressed together and promises whispered in his ear and he can’t take it anymore. 

After Tina and Queenie leave for work the next day he grabs his coat off the hook and leaves himself.  It’s an impulse, really.  That’s probably why Queenie didn’t stop him.  She can’t very well know what he’s going to do if he doesn’t even know.

The moment the sunlight hits his face he can feel the fog lifting from his mind.  He’s so glad to be outside, out of the cramped apartment and out of his suffocating thoughts.  He doesn’t know how he managed to stay there so long.  He really doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t have anywhere particular to go.  He can’t very well run errands or Tina and Queenie will know he’s gone out.  He ends up walking to the bakery up the block, buys a pastry that feels a little extravagant, and wanders in between the buildings taking in the noise and bustle of the city and letting his head clear.  It’s still a day of doing nothing in particular, but it’s infinitely divorced from whiling away time in the apartment.

He’s back before anyone gets home.

He goes out more and more over the next few days, just looking for places to be that are _away._   He takes a book with him sometimes, reading in a park or café.  Sometimes he just walks and lets his thoughts settle.  Mr Graves isn’t anywhere to be seen, and Credence refuses to let himself contemplate how that makes him feel.  He’s not entirely sure when his feelings changed from anger to… Something else.  But it’s no matter.  If he doesn’t see Mr Graves, what importance does it have?

But of course, it doesn’t last.  Queenie looks at him when she gets home one day and asks him, “Credence?  Honey, did you go out today?”  Credence’s gaze drops, and he doesn’t know why he ever bothered trying to hide it.  It was always worse to be found out after hiding something.  “Oh, sweetie.  No, you’re fine sweetie, no one’s gonna be mad.  But – all week?”

“I’m sorry Queenie.”  He stares down at the floor, ashamed and resigned.

Queenie tells Tina, and Credence doesn’t even try to convince her not to.  Tina takes his hands, looks at him so worried and caring that Credence feels nauseous with guilt.

“I know it’s hard Credence.  We’re doing everything we can at MACUSA, President Picquery is personally overseeing the search.  It won’t be long now, and then –”

“Tina,” Queenie interrupts, “he has to make his own choices.  How’s he supposed to stay here alone all day?”

“I don’t know.”  Tina drops his hands and turns to face her sister.  “That’s better than being out on the streets, who knows what could happen with Graves out there?”

Credence shrinks back, out of the crossfire of the argument as Queenie retorts.  He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.  He’s stuck between too many choices and not enough, Tina tells him that he’s supposed to be in charge of his own life now and it’s terrifying the extent of what that means, but when he tries to make decisions on his own he chooses wrong.  Queenie has different ideas entirely, apparently, and how is that supposed to _work_?  The pressure is building inside him, his head is pounding, and he shuts his eyes tight and tries to breathe, _just breathe –_

“Credence?”

The argument stops abruptly as Queenie looks at him wide eyed, his thoughts must be screaming, and he meets her gaze.  She knows exactly what he’s going to do, but he moves before she can stop him.  The door flies open before he touches it and he sprints down the stairs, heedless of Tina calling after him and ducking past Mrs Esposito.  And then he’s outside in the darkening city, running and not looking back.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

The streets sprawl out before him and he loses track of the turns he takes and what direction he’s going, running until the burning in his lungs forces him to stop.  He has no idea how far he is from the apartment, no idea where he’s going. 

“Mr Graves.  Mr Graves…”  He repeats the name like a prayer, desperate and pleading, doubled over and gasping raggedly in the glow of a streetlamp.  “Please, Mr Graves.”  The city is silent around him, interrupted only by the motors of automobiles passing a few streets over.

The streetlamp goes dark at the same time he feels a hand on his arm.  He turns and folds into Mr Graves’ embrace, clinging to him and burying his head in his shoulder.  Mr Graves’ arms are around him, secure around his waist and a hand pressed against the back of his neck and Credence needs it, needs it with every part of his being.

“Oh, Credence.  What have they done to you?  I’ve got you now.  Shh, it’s all right.”  Mr Graves strokes over the nape of his neck, holds him pressed close against his chest, and Credence is so glad of it, taking in the reassurances murmured in his ear like he’s starved for them.

Mr Graves draws back from him when the shivering starts.  It’s not a cold night, not particularly, but Credence doesn’t have his coat and the thin fabric of his shirt does nothing to buffer him from the chill.  Mr Graves holds him by the shoulders, considers him for a moment, and then with a whirl of fabric takes off his own coat to wrap snugly around Credence.

It doesn’t fit him right – it’s too broad in the shoulders, and it hangs awkwardly on his thin frame.  But the wool is warm and thick, it smells like Mr Graves, and Credence would take it without a second thought.  He burrows into it, lets his eyes fall shut with the comfort of Mr Graves’ hands on him and Mr Graves’ coat around him.

Mr Graves tilts his chin up and brushes the hair back from his face – it’s getting long and wispy, he hasn’t kept up the haircut his Ma gave him.

“Have you eaten?”  Mr Graves asks him with concern, and Credence shakes his head.  He hadn’t thought about it, not with the turmoil at the apartment and the relief of seeing Mr Graves, but he is hungry.

“Come along.”  Mr Graves guides him down the street with an arm securely around his waist, and Credence would be mortified to be seen like this in public save for that it feels so right.  They end up at a little café some blocks away, one of those places open late.  It has soft lighting, low music and hot coffee, and Mr Graves finds them a secluded booth in the corner.  He pulls Credence in next to him on the same side of the table, and Credence hesitates for a moment, glancing at the other patrons still within sight of their table.

“No one will notice.”  The wave of Mr Graves’ hand has no visible effect, but Credence relents.  He slides in and leans against Mr Graves’ side, arm still wrapped around his waist and pulling him close.  The waiter who comes to their table doesn’t spare a glance at him, truly doesn’t seem to see what should be a spectacle to any decent person’s eyes.  Credence lets the sounds of the restaurant wash over him, eats the food Mr Graves orders for him, rests his head against Mr Graves’ chest, and starts to relax.

Credence isn’t sure how long they stay, but Mr Graves takes him out the back of the restaurant when they leave.  In the alley Credence can hear music still emanating from inside, the shouts and laughter of passerby on neighboring streets, and it feels far away.  He worries vaguely that Mr Graves will leave him now, send him back to face Tina and Queenie, but there’s no need.  Hands tight on his shoulders, Mr Graves Apparates them away.

Credence doesn’t know if he will ever get used to the feeling of Apparition.  It leaves him dizzy and disoriented, grateful of Mr Graves against him for support.  They’ve arrived on the front step of an apartment, and the silence is abrupt after the noisy ambience of the café.  It occurs to Credence that he has no idea where they are.  Still in New York probably, but he doesn’t recognize the street in the dark.  Likely wouldn’t even in the daylight.  There’s the click of a lock and Mr Graves swings the door open, bringing Credence inside.  The apartment is nice, bigger and more spacious than Tina’s.  It’s tidy without being strict, and the couch Mr Graves settles them on feels both comfortable and expensive. 

Mr Graves sits beside him and he draws Credence closer, lying propped against the arm of the couch and guiding Credence to rest against his chest.  Credence follows Mr Graves’ hands, lets himself be settled into place.  He tucks his head under Mr Graves’ chin, letting his eyes close and enjoying the feeling of fingers playing along his hairline.  The coat is draped over both of them now, and Mr Graves slides a hand underneath it to trace down Credence’s spine.

“Tell me why you came to me, Credence.”

Credence shuts his eyes more tightly and squirms a little.  He doesn’t have a good answer, isn’t rightly sure himself other than that he couldn’t possibly have stayed.  But Mr Graves won’t have that of course, he asked Credence a question and he needs an answer.

“What did Tina do?  You can tell me.” 

What had Tina done?  She hadn’t meant anything, he knew that.  But he tells Mr Graves how trapped he’d been in the apartment, how Tina and Queenie had found out he was going out and the argument that came after, how it all built up inside him until he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he’d run.  It feels a bit thin now, like it couldn’t possibly have been that bad.  All he knows is that in that moment, it had all spilled over. But Mr Graves nods, sympathetic. 

“They don’t understand you.  Tina’s a good witch, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to feel real power.  It can’t be constrained.”

Credence closes his eyes and concentrates on the feeling of Mr Graves’ fingers in his hair, light touches that would occupy the whole of his mind if he let them.

“Have you been learning about your magic?”

Credence shrugs, shakes his head.  “I try to, but…”

“They don’t allow you a wand.”  Credence nods.  “They have no right to stop you learning about your power.”  Mr Graves brushes his fingers over Credence’s cheek.  “Have you felt it inside you?  Since the obscurus was destroyed?”

Credence’s mind is slow with fatigue, but he thinks about it.  He doesn’t know how to tell.  He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt it.  When Tina tries to teach him magic maybe, but even then it’s not something he’d describe as feeling so much as… simply doing, or trying to.  “I don’t think so, Mr Graves.  What… what does it feel like?”

Mr Graves’ hand comes to rest on his cheek.  “I’ll show you.”

He turns Credence, positions him so that Credence’s back is against his chest.  Credence isn’t sure what to expect, but he trusts Mr Graves and he feels grounded with Mr Graves’ hand resting over his heart.

“Close your eyes, Credence.”  Mr Graves’ voice is low in his ear, and Credence can feel his breath against his neck.  “Let me guide you.”

So Credence does.  He lets himself relax against Mr Graves and lean into his arms, lets himself believe that Mr Graves can help him.  He doesn’t feel anything different at first, just the warm glow of Mr Graves’ hands on him and the beating of his own heart.  It’s quiet in the apartment, and there’s a clock ticking somewhere.

He barely notices it at first.  There’s a lightness in him, a lifting that feels odd but not unnatural.  It’s nice, and he lets himself relax into it.

“That’s right.”

Credence tips his head back against Mr Graves’ shoulder as he feels it welling up in him, moving through him, and it’s not so much a physical feeling as an awareness of something deep inside.  It feels good, and it feels powerful – he feels it moving outward but it’s not like the obscurus, not like he’s falling apart or being torn to pieces but reaching.  He can't quite believe he's never felt it before.  It's almost familiar, like a part of himself he forgot long ago.  He senses the potential of it, and for the first time he understands why it tore him apart from the inside.  In that moment the world opens up, and he feels unbound.

It courses through him and he holds it, latent heat waiting for a shape.

And then he lets it go.

A flash of light fills the apartment and Credence sees it through his eyelids, but he doesn’t need to to know it happens.

It’s so different from the obscurus, it’s not painful and it’s not being ripped out of him, it’s – it’s him.  It’s his.  It's not gone from him, just receding now.  He can still feel the buzz of it, even if he can't draw it up.

“That’s your power, Credence.  In time you’ll learn to control it.”

Credence nods, still caught in the afterglow of power.  He's grateful and content and exhausted.  He wants to fall asleep listening to Mr Graves’ heartbeat, assured and comfortable in his presence.

“This is yours, Credence.”  Mr Graves hand leaves him to pull something from his pocket, and he holds it up for Credence to see.  A thin bronze chain with a little triangular pendant.  The necklace that Credence had thrown away, clasp still broken.  He feels a surge of guilt, and he couldn’t feel more different than he had when he’d pulled it from his neck.  He should never have gotten rid of it, it had been foolish and thoughtless and –

“It’s all right.”  Mr Graves slips the broken ends of the chain around his neck, fingers just brushing against him as the chain knits itself back together into one continuous loop.  “Better.  See?”

Credence runs his fingers over the pendant resting against his chest, and he nods.  “Thank you, Mr Graves.”  It’s not heavy, but he feels the weight of it around his neck.

“Rest now.”

Mr Graves settles Credence back down against his chest and pulls another blanket over them.  Credence curls into the warmth, his mind comfortably hazy.  Mr Graves strokes gently through his hair as he falls asleep, and for the first time in weeks Credence feels safe.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

He wakes up the next morning alone, and it takes him a moment to remember why that feels odd.  He sits up, and Mr Graves’ coat slides off him.  It comes flooding back – the relief of finding Mr Graves, the confrontation with Tina – Tina.  She must be so worried, she and Queenie, he never should have left them like that.  His head is clearer after a night of sleep, and he knows that what he’s done is terribly unfair.

Mr Graves walks in already impeccably dressed, and he looks at Credence warmly.  The thoughts of the Goldsteins nearly slip from his mind at the sight, but not quite.

“I have to go back Mr Graves.  Queenie and Tina, they’ll be worried.”  He feels guilty saying it, even though he knows it’s true.  He feels guilty for being here, and guilty for going back.

“I know.  I know you care for them, even as they constrain you.  But your power is beyond them, Credence.  I wish you could see how they hold you back.”

Credence frowns.  “They don’t mean to.  They do the best they can.”

“Is that enough?”  Mr Graves looks at him seriously, holding his gaze for a moment before placing a hand on his cheek.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Queenie throws herself on him the second he walks through the door.  “Credence!  Oh, honey, we were so worried about you.  Tina!  Tina, he’s back!”

It’s a weekday, but both of them are home.  Tina looks absolutely beside herself, quite possibly like she hasn’t slept, and Credence feels another pang of guilt.  While he’d been thankful and elated to be with Mr Graves they’d been here, terrified for him.

“You saw Mr Graves last night?”  Queenie’s voice is small, and she looks at him with a helpless, worried expression.

Tina looks for a second like she feels sick.  “Are you all right, Credence?  Do you know where he is?  Did he tell you –”

“Tina.”  Queenie gives her sister a look, and just shakes her head.

Tina stops and just looks at Credence, and she looks so very, very tired.  Worn down from months of long hours, worry, constant searching for the man who Credence could hand to her and won’t.  “He was using you, Credence.”  Her voice is soft, sad.  “He was using all of us.  He’s not who you thought he was.  You know that, right?”

Credence nods silently.  Mr Graves had said as much himself.  He’d gotten carried away looking for the obscurus, and he’d made mistakes.  But there was no obscurus now.

There’s very little conversation after that.  No one has much to say.  Tina goes in to work for the second half of the day, but Queenie stays home still.  As much to keep him company as to keep an eye on him, probably.  They cook dinner together under a blanket of heavy silence.

Credence goes to bed that night with a weight in his stomach, half wishing in some dark part of himself that he hadn’t come back at all.

Tina talks with him the next day, tells him that she knows it’s hard right now but that it will get better with time.  She and Queenie are there for him.  He just needs to ride it out, she says, and it will be all right in the end.

Credence nods along without meeting her eyes, and isn’t sure how that’s possible when he’s hiding from wizards and no-majs alike and the three people who care about him are busy hunting each other.

Tina and Queenie can’t stop him from going out, not without actually locking him in, and that’s not something they’ll consider.  In the end there’s not terribly much they can do.  They ask him to tell them where he’s going, stay in busier areas, and not be out after dark.  Credence agrees.  He really doesn’t want them to have to worry.  It seems like a compromise, but they all know that it won’t stop Mr Graves finding him.

He doesn’t see Mr Graves though.  He doesn’t go looking for him specifically, and does his best not to dwell on the part of himself that hopes to see him around each corner.  He’s not entirely sure how Mr Graves found him that night anyway.  He doesn’t know what he expects to happen now.  That Mr Graves will just show up again?  He had before, and he’d come when Credence had needed him.  So perhaps he had expected that he’d turn a corner and Mr Graves would be there waiting for him. 

He does his best to put the whole night out of his head.  In the daylight with his mind more or less clear it’s not too difficult to tell himself to take Queenie’s advice, given weeks ago now.  But at night he can’t help the thoughts that run through his head, memories of Mr Graves’ chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm to which he matches his breathing, the warmth of Mr Graves’ body against his, the soft hands that stroke over him and the soft words whispered in his ear.  And longer ago, pressed against an alley wall with Mr Graves’ weight against him, knowing for the first time the feeling of lips against his own and a tongue opening up his mouth.  A hotel room after lunch, Mr Graves’ hands resting on his hips and his shirt buttons opening themselves one by one, starting at his collar and working lower.  Soft touches on his bare chest, fingers catching on his nipples and sending sparks through him, hot waves of pleasure that make him feel exposed and vulnerable and never having known how much he needed it.  Leaning forward to kiss Mr Graves, tasting him and parting his lips, making slow strokes with his tongue until Mr Graves moans into his mouth and Credence feels like he’s soaring.

He should know better than to think of it.  He should know better, but he doesn’t.

He can see Tina biting back her questions about Mr Graves.  Queenie must have warned her off of asking.  Credence knows it’s Tina’s job to find Mr Graves, he knows she’s in a difficult position, and it makes his stomach twist.  But the thought of helping her find Mr Graves makes him feel worse.

Tina starts talking about writing to Mr Scamander again.  Credence knows she thinks it would be good for him to get out of New York and – though she doesn’t say it – away from Mr Graves.  She might even be right.  The thing is, he doesn’t want to.  He’s thought about it, and it does make sense.  No one knows him in Europe, Mr Scamander would watch out for him, and it doesn’t mean he could never come back.  It would be a fresh start and a chance to escape the dark memories that cloud the city.  But he doesn’t want to.

It’s not entirely about Mr Graves.  He’s self-aware enough to think that through, at least.  But as much as it would make sense, would probably be a good decision and would certainly put Tina’s mind at rest, he can’t picture it.  He does try.  He thinks about Mr Scamander meeting him off a ship – Mr Scamander had seemed kind, from the little Credence knew of him.  Tina said Mr Scamander was working on a book, not doing fieldwork, so maybe they’d live in an apartment somewhere in Britain.  Credence would get a wand, get work in a magical shop maybe, teach himself magic at night.  He thinks about it but it feels paper thin, as if it would tear if he touched it.  The details of it slip through his fingers, and he can’t think of it as anything more than abstract, not as something which has a real relevance to his life.  It gives him an unsettled feeling, like it’s something off limits.  Starting over would be nice, maybe, but he can’t help knowing that it isn’t something people like him get to do.

He doesn’t know how to explain that to Tina, that it’s not something which was ever meant for him, so when she mentions it again he’s noncommittal, says he’ll think about it.  He doesn’t tell her that he has thought about it, and that it’s impossible.

Queenie probably knows.  He sees it in the way she looks at him, the kind little comments she makes to him, but there’s really nothing she can say that will change the way things are.

The pressure builds in him for so long that when he does see Mr Graves again it doesn’t enter his mind to feel guilty.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Credence is reading, dappled shadows from the trees overhead playing across the pages of his book.  It’s a warm day, with a soft breeze that stirs his hair and tickles his face. His hair has gotten long around his ears and neck, wisps falling into his eyes – Queenie had offered to cut it for him, but Credence had only let her even it up as it grew out.  He can distantly hear people calling to each other from elsewhere in the park, automobiles rumbling past, mixed together with the rushing sounds of branches and chirping birds.  It’s almost peaceful.

Mr Graves sits down beside him on the park bench and puts a hand on his knee, and Credence looks up, startled.  It seems somehow incongruous to see Mr Graves here, sitting in the sunlight with the shouts of children nearby.  Credence is surprised, but gratified to see him.  The longer time had stretched on the more he’d worried, thought that perhaps he’d done something wrong, or failed to do something right.  But Mr Graves is beside him now.  There’s no preamble, no introduction.  Credence was alone, and now Mr Graves is here.

Mr Graves pulls the book from his lap, flips it around to see the cover.  “‘Magic in North America?’”

“Tina lent it to me.  It’s fascinating.”

Mr Graves flips absently through the pages, back to the chapter Credence was reading.  “Ah.  The Salem Witch Trials.”

Credence nods, looking down.  The book tells it completely differently from what Ma had said.  He isn’t sure how he feels reading about it.  “It says that after the trials witches and wizards stopped coming here.  That they were afraid of no-majs.”

“That’s right.  They chose to hide rather than defend their rights, a trait all too common in wizards today.  It was a turning point for the magical community.  Does your book tell you that, Credence?”

“Yes.  It said that’s why the Statute of Secrecy was made, to protect them – us – from no-majs.”

“Hm.  That was when wizards chose to bow down rather than claim their rightful place.  Tell me Credence.  What do you think would have happened if wizards had chosen to fight?”

Credence considers it.  He considers the fear he read about in the book, illustrations of blazing pyres, the violent campaigns of the no-majs.  The violence he knew in his ma.  And he thinks about a politician lying dead on a stage before a screaming crowd, the ruins of the New Salem church, a city in chaos crumbling to ashes.

“They would have won, Mr Graves.”

Mr Graves inclines his head, closing the book as he stands.  “Come, Credence.  Time for lunch.”

The rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur.  Mr Graves takes him to a restaurant which likely costs more than the Goldsteins’ meals for a week, talks to him about magical history, about Credence’s own magic, what he could do with it with the proper training. 

Mr Graves walks Credence halfway back to the apartment before they part, hand lingering on his waist and thumbs tracing little circles over his hips.  Credence doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to break the contact, and he’s grateful when Mr Graves holds him back, pulls him out of view of the street.

They are, suddenly, very close together.  Credence feels hot breath on his lips, his own breath hitching in anticipation.  It feels like an eternity, but when Mr Graves’ lips finally meet his own he melts forward, giving himself fully to the kiss.  It’s been so long and it feels so good, Mr Graves’ tongue running over his lips and his hands running up his sides, and Credence could swear he’s floating.  He wants more, presses his body against Mr Graves and holds tight around his shoulders, skin on fire with need and want, lost to the sensation.  It’s over too soon.  Mr Graves pulls back and Credence tries to follow his lips, but a firm hand against his chest stops him.

“There will be time for that.”  Mr Graves strokes along his collar bone and pulls him back into a quick, tight embrace, breathing words into his ear.  “I’ll come for you again soon, Credence.”

Credence nods, dizzy and lightheaded even after Mr Graves is gone.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

He sees Mr Graves more often after that.  Always during the day when the Goldsteins are at work.  Mr Graves takes Credence all over the city, to restaurants, museums, matinées.  A hotel.  It’s different than before – no more meeting in dark alleys and stealing moments, no urgent search for a child who won’t be found.  They have time now, but to Credence it still never feels like enough.  They have hours instead of moments and his ma isn’t waiting for him on the stairs, but he still feels caught.  He’s trapped in the middle, stuck between Tina and Queenie’s hopes and Mr Graves’ guidance.  Every time that he has to make a choice and every time that he fights desperately not to it tears him apart.

It’s tense in the apartment now.  He’s stayed a long time.  Tina and Queenie took him in when he was desperate, hurting and afraid with nowhere else in the world to go.  It was never supposed to be anything more than temporary.  He knows he can’t stay, knows it deeply.  He just doesn’t know if he can go.  He can’t picture living on his own, and the endless choices in front of him terrify him.

It’s a sort of monotony, the way the pressure builds.  Tina is worn thin from work, Credence from guilt and indecision, and Queenie is in the middle of it all seeing both more and less than anyone thinks.

Tina and Queenie are so careful not to make decisions for him.  They tell him they’ll support him but everything is always such chaos.  There’s no direction, no guidelines, he wants to ask if he’s making the right decisions but they don’t seem to like it when he does.

Mr Graves makes it easy.  He doesn’t make Credence do anything he doesn’t want to, doesn’t hurt him, but he has expectations.  There are right answers, and Credence feels good when he finds them.  It’s comfortable and calming, a relief to settle into after the uncertainty ruling the other aspects of his life.

Eventually something will give.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

“I don’t know what Madam Picquery expects us to do!  The auror department is a complete mess, everyone second guessing everyone else.  And the acting Head of Magical Security – I swear to you Queenie, Abernathy would do a better job!”

Queenie giggles as she dries a plate.  The three of them are in the kitchen clearing away the dishes left from earlier, and from what Credence gathers Tina had a particularly difficult day at work.  He’s only half listening, falling into the rhythm of washing dishes.  Queenie could probably do it faster by magic, but it makes Credence feel useful to help with the chores and he likes the routine.

“I’m serious Queenie!  And don’t even get me started on the disaster that is looking for Graves.  We need good information or we’ll never –” She stops, glances sideways at Credence, and it all comes crashing down around him.

He can’t stand it.  Can’t stand feeling like a traitor to a government that tried to execute him and left him for dead, a traitor to Tina for holding back information about Mr Graves.  The one thing she asks him for, the one thing she tells him is the right thing to do, he can’t.  How could he possibly?  How could he betray the one person who had been there for him, who _came back_ for him?  He can’t.  And he didn’t want to make a choice, but in that moment he knows he has.  He leans over the sink, chest aching with the gravity of it, but it’s like the world shifted and he knows, deeply, that he can’t stay here.  Standing in the kitchen, light from the windows fading, it’s clear.  Tina and Queenie would never say it, might not even believe it, but it’s time for him to leave.

“You all right sweetie?”  He feels Queenie’s arm around his shoulders, and he looks up to meet her gaze.  She’s kind, has always done her best for him, and in all of this she’s perhaps the person he feels most sorry to disappoint.

“Yes.”  He nods, gives her a smile.  “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Sure.  Get some rest, okay?”  She looks troubled.  It’s too bad he can’t explain to her, show her that it’s all for the best.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

“I can’t stay with them, Mr Graves.  I can’t do it anymore.”  Credence wants to explain it, wants to make sense of exactly why he needs to leave, but he doesn’t have the words.  He just knows with a certainty that he does.

“I know.”  Mr Graves’ voice is soft and understanding.  He cups Credence’s jaw, slides a hand around the back of his neck, and Credence leans into it.  “I know.  I’ve known for a long time.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Credence whispers.  His eyes are filling with tears again, he made the decision to leave but he doesn’t know where to go.

Mr Graves holds Credence tight.  He places kisses along his neck, runs a hand over his chest, and his fingers settle on the pendant tucked just under his shirt.  “Come with me to Europe, Credence.”

“What?”  Credence looks up, startled.  He knew Mr Graves would help him, but Europe?  “When – where?”

“Germany.  My work takes me there.  Do you remember how important that is?”

“Y-yes.”  Credence nods, a little unsteady.

Mr Graves places a hand on his cheek, ducks his head slightly to get under Credence’s line of sight.  “Credence.  You could help me.”

“Mr Graves?”  Credence doesn’t know what to think, confused and hopeful all at the same time.  “What could I do?”

“You don’t yet know how powerful you are.  You will be a great wizard, and with guidance, you could be our most important asset.  Do you remember what it feels like to reach the magic inside you?  I can teach you how to use it.”

Credence wants that.  He does.  He wants to learn to use his magic and he wants to be with Mr Graves.  But…

“I want wizards to be free from the laws that keep us chained, Credence.  If it weren’t for the Statute of Secrecy do you really think you would have been left for that woman who called herself your mother?  That she would have been allowed to treat you that way?  You wouldn’t have had to hide, Credence.  You would have gone to Ilvermorny with your own kind and become a wizard.  Even now, look at you.  Not even allowed a wand.  What place do you really think you have in this world?  Are you going to hide from MACUSA forever?  No.  We deserve a world where we can live openly, without fear.  I know you want that too.”

“Yes.  Yes, I do.”  He does.  He wants it more than anything, and it’s so easy to say yes.

“There’s a ship leaving tonight.  I’ll take you to get your things.”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Mr Graves stands at the door with his wand out, hands just off the surface.  He looks like he’s feeling something out, eyes closed in concentration and muttering quietly.  It only takes a moment for the lock to click and the door to swing open.

The apartment is quiet and still, shafts of sunlight streaming in through the windows.  Credence feels out of place.  He looks around for what it occurs to him will be the last time, and it looks familiar and foreign all at once.

“Pack your things.”

Mr Graves’ voice draws him back.  He starts moving, opening up the case Mr Graves brought.  He doesn’t have much, clothes mostly.  It only takes a few minutes. 

He glances around again, looking about for any final items, and his gaze falls on the book – _Magic in North America_.  He still has one chapter to go.  But it’s Tina’s, he can’t take it with him.  He picks it up, flips through the pages until he gets to the back cover.  Her name is written there in the inconsistent strokes of a schoolchild – _Porpentina Goldstein_.  It had been one of her Ilvermorny books.

He closes it carefully and sets it on his pillow.

“I’m ready, Mr Graves.”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

“Tina!”  Queenie is standing outside the front door of the apartment with her wand out when Tina gets home from work.

“What’s wrong?”  Something would have to be wrong, something would have to be dreadfully wrong for Queenie to have her wand out in full view of any no-maj who walked past.

“I only just got here, but – the wards are broken.”

Tina swears, pulling out her own wand.  She should have felt it if the wards were broken, she should have known.  It would have taken enormous skill to get past them.  “All right.  We’ll go in together, Queenie.  You ready?  Three, two –”

The apartment is empty.  It’s neat and tidy, and there’s no one at all inside.  Credence is gone.  Tina feels the panic start to mount in her chest, fights it back down.  She would have rather faced a troll, a dozen dark wizards, than the absolute silence that greets her.  Perhaps Credence is just out.  Late coming back.  Never mind the broken wards, the person who would have had to break the wards –

“Empty.”  Queenie is standing in front of the dresser by Credence’s bed, pulling the draws open.  “All his things are gone.  Oh Tina, he’s gone.”

Credence’s bed is perfectly made.  Sitting there in the center of his pillow is _Magic in North America_ , and Tina picks it up.  She traces over the cover, still trying to tell herself there must be some other explanation, that Credence couldn’t possibly be gone, that Graves couldn’t possibly –

There’s a bookmark still in place.  Tina flips to it – the last chapter.  She frowns as the pages fall open.  There’s a slip of paper tucked under the bookmark, folded in half.  From Credence, maybe?  An explanation of some sort, a… a farewell?  She pulls it from between the pages, unfolding it carefully.

The book falls from her hand.  It lands on the floor with a thump, cover splayed and pages bent under it.  She doesn’t notice.

“Tina?  Tina, what is it?”

The note is only one line.  Black ink in familiar handwriting.

_Pity you couldn’t save him._

\----------------------------------------

 

Mr Graves guides Credence up the ramp of the ship, leading him firmly and gently.  He's glad of the hand around his waist, glad to follow Mr Graves.  His decision is made and it doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong, all he has to do is trust. 

Standing on the deck of the ship, looking out over the dark harbor, Credence can see lights sparkling on the water, feel the chill breeze coming in.  New York is behind him and if he turned he would see people moving on the docks, automobile headlights and lighted windows, the city still moving and alive even in the dark.

The breeze from the water ruffles his hair.  He leans his head against Mr Graves’ shoulder and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as mercurial-tenacity


End file.
